


Celestial

by Qais



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Gen, I love them all sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 11:42:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15290790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qais/pseuds/Qais
Summary: Clark is rendered godlike in death, and wakes with a love for the darkness.





	Celestial

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [command me to be well](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6643468) by [figure8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/pseuds/figure8). 



> I read Command me to be well - by figure8 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/6643468) and had to write this. It's basically no plot and probably reads more like poetry but I love my dumb superhero boys and want them to be ok. Also: none of the boys are mentioned by name, but they're all there!

Clark had felt like a god only once in his life, and it was when the man with the angry twist to his mouth had looked at him and growled “Do you bleed?”

There are shadows cascading around him, a black mask over half of his face and Clark has never seen anything as painfully human as the realization that this man wanted him dead. And in that moment, as he crawled away from perdition and pain, he felt godlike. He felt like a martyr and a holy spirit and everything that he had always believed he wasn’t. In death, he became celestial and the green glow in his chest spoke of a magic that extended beyond his alien-ness, his humanity, his morals, his flaws. 

He wonders, in his final moments, how the dark shadow who had tried to kill him would feel, if he knew his crusade was what had rendered Clark godlike. As it is, they’ve been allies for all of 2 hours (that is nothing, there was eternity before me, I should not be dying, not now, not like this) and Clark doesn’t have much time between the killing blow and slipping away.

Death is dark and shadowy and celestial and Clark is struck by how similar it is to what tried to kill him.

\--

If he was celestial in death, coming back to life is the most debasing moment he has ever experienced. He is ripped from floating amongst celestial bodies, from being enchanted by stars, into cold and dark earth. He crawls out, there isn’t much else he can do, and the sun is shining blindingly over his grave. He misses the comforting embrace of darkness.

The words above his grave give him pause, the flowers don’t surprise him as much as the hastily (sincerely) written letters do. “If you seek his monument, look around you.” Clark is terribly relieved that this was how the world made him godlike, by making him an image of the good around him. He’d always been what his mother had made him, those he loved had been more Superman than he ever truly was. The gratification at the memorial makes him weep and Clark is painfully glad that it isn’t a cheapening of how he died, or a way of rendering him a messiah for people who didn’t need another. 

But the sun is too bright and Clark has seen darkness in death. He needs it now. So he flies. And asks forgiveness from his mother for not going to her first.

\--

Clark is enchanted by the liveliness of the manor, and wonders if all the children he can see surrounding the man were always there. He thinks of how he had nearly killed their father and something bitter crawls up his throat, guilt and blame in one violently constricting package. He swallows past it. Can’t afford not to. Not now.

Instead, he walks forward, and ignores the surrealism of what he’s doing as he knocks on the door.

An older gentleman opens the door and Clark flashes to whispers and screams of Alfred in the heat of battle, a sure presence, a father. He isn’t sure what to say to the man so he simply stands there, reigning in a desire to apologize for nearly killing the man’s son.

“Su-” and Clark hastens to change the words on the man’s lips.

“Clark, sir, Clark Kent. I- I’m sorry to show up without warning but I’m a little disoriented and I thought-” and before he can finish Alfred has a gentle hand on his elbow and is pulling him inside, taking his coat (and Clark hopes his mother doesn’t notice the tornado that went through the boxes of his stuff she keeps in the barn), and guiding him inside.

He slips his shoes off and is about to thank Alfred when he sees who is standing stock-still in the kitchen entryway. Clark struggles to make eye contact but is glad he did because, though his posture screams aggression, Bruce’s eyes are devastated. 

“What on earth…” the voice is reverent and Clark winces. Darkness made him a god, but had never believed him to be one. Death had apparently changed that a little.

“Bruce, what-” and the oldest child walks into the standstill, shattering the glass-like still into a fabric, laying over everything and muffling it. “Is that-” and the boy can’t finish speaking, his eyes wide and staring at Clark, his eyes blue as a galaxy and his hand tight on his father’s elbow.

Then there is the sound of more footsteps, the younger children walk in, and everybody stops. The 4 boys staring at Clark with an absolute shock and still neither Clark nor Bruce move. They do not speak, they do not take a step backwards or forwards, and they stare.

“I woke up-” and Clark’s voice hitches and he has to swallow before he can continue. “I woke up in my grave, I don’t know what’s going on. I will leave if you ask,” and that grates on his throat but Clark knows that this man has lost too much (part of him screams that it was his own damn fault and that the least he could do was tell the man he’d tried to kill why he wasn’t dead, but Clark had seen darkness in death and knew what it gave up). He knows that it is not his right to take space in this house, he knows that this family is precious and he knows that if he were ever to cause upset he would remember the boy with the galaxy blue eyes and would wish (again) that he’d simply stayed dead.

“Don’t leave.” And the voice is hushed, no longer reverent, but quiet and firm, sure in a way that Clark needs. “We’ll figure this out.”

And Clark smiles a small smile, grateful to the galaxy whom he knew in death, for teaching him to trust the darkness. His eyes roll back and he feels calm, knowing that he will be caught.


End file.
